The Madonna Factor
by Cold Nostalgia
Summary: New Chapter. New Harley.


Title: The Madonna Factor

Author: Cold Nostaliga

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue.

Characters: Harley, Ivy, mentions of Joker

Summary: New chapter. New Harley.

* * *

"Stop being so ridiculous."

Harley Quinn barely glanced up from the TV, "I ain't bein' ridiculous."

"Yes, yes, you are," Ivy replied sharply.

Harley gave a small shrug and sank further into the tattered armchair. Ivy swore she could almost hear her best friend's neurotransmitters shutting down. For what seemed to be for the millionth time, Poison Ivy wondered why she cared.

With a sigh, Ivy grabbed the remote and switched off the television, completely ignoring Harley's histrionic protests.

"Harley," she began, and then paused, waiting for the younger woman to calm down. "This is without a shadow of a doubt, the most stupidest thing I've heard come out of your mouth."

"Ya said that last week," came the irked reply.

Ivy bit her lip, fighting the urge to start screaming and throwing things. "Harl," she tried again. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"I ain't dressing up as a clown," Harley stated firmly; her eyes locked firmly on the remote, "I don't have a costume, I can't help ya."

Ivy crouched down to meet her friend's eyes, "Harley. That sick bastard doesn't have a trademark on the clown theme, you know."

Harley stared back, her unreasonable annoyance seemingly gone. Ivy started to wonder if she was beginning to get through to her. The irony of it was just sickening, any other time a rejection of all things Joker would have been cause for righteous celebration.

But not today. Not with Andrew Tracy in town, closing a deal in a few hours that would make Zans Tech even more powerful and dangerous than it already was. It needed to be nipped in the bud. Fast. And she needed another human for her hastily constructed plan, one she could trust…

And the only person who fitted that description was Harley.

Who was now pouting like a petulant five year old, her eyes still fixed on the remote.

"Harley," Ivy tried once more, in a voice she'd once used on the orphans. "Harley, how about we forget about your costume just this once?"

Harley's eyes narrowed, "ya want me to help you out on this gig of yours in my street clothes. That's what yer sayin', ain't that right?"

Ivy smiled at her best friend as if she were a recently divorced billionaire. "Yes Harl," replied Ivy, using the same gentle tones. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Harley leaned back in her chair incredulous. "Yer askin' me to give up my place on B-list over this gig?"

Ivy blinked, her smile still frozen in place. "What?"

Harley leapt out her chair and began to pace the room agitatedly, "even people like Maxie Zeus wear freakin' costumes, Pammie." She stopped her pacing, turning to face her bestest buddy in the world. "What the hell are people gonna say when they hear I've been committin' crimes without a costume on?"

"Geeze, Pammie," she went on, throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis. " Why don't ya just ask me to start slummin' with Matches Malone and the like? 'Cause that's what yer essentially askin' me to become. A lowlife henchman"

Poison Ivy stared at her. "B-List?"

"Power rankings, Pammie. You know."

She didn't know at all. It was times like this Poison Ivy remembered why she normally avoided having anything to do with humans. Life was just so much easier when it was just her, and her precious babies.

"No one is going notice for one night, Harl."

Harley started at her silently, an eyebrow rose in complete disbelief.

"It could be your new gimmick," Ivy said quietly, feeling suddenly tired. "The fact that you don't have a gimmick."

Harley continued to stare.

Ivy rubbed her temple in a vain attempt to stop her gradually worsening headache. Having a talk with Harley was sometimes the conversational equivalent to having a bad acid trip – or at least how Ivy imagined one to be.

She silently crossed the room, sitting herself down in the vacated seat; her left hand still tightly wrapped around the remote. Ivy knew that Harley wasn't going to budge on the subject, but she decided to give it one last try.

"Honestly. There's nothing wrong with your old costume. You were the one who came up with it." Ivy smiled encouragingly, "it's all yours, Harl. Not his. Besides, the last time this happened you still wore it. I don't see what the problem is."

"People associate it with him," Harley folded her arms across her chest. "I'm done with that."

Ivy nodded, seeing the silver lining for what it was. "Alright, how about if we just both go over there in our street clothes--."

"The clothes maketh the rogue," interrupted Harley. "You're A-list. You can get away it – I can't."

Ivy nodded once, apparently taking Harley's concerns into consideration. She leaned back into the chair, the very model of dignity and composure.

"Okay, Harl. How about this?" Ivy leaned forward conspiratorially, "I received an invitation to the world premiere of Brad Pitt's new movie next week. Help me out with the Tracy situation and you can go instead of me."

Harley blinked, looking slightly taken aback, "you serious?"

"No!" Ivy shrieked, hurling the remote against the far wall, where it smashed into a million pieces. "What the hell is wrong with you? A-list! B-list! D-list! Newsflash, Harley, you're not going to lose your spot on Bibs-."

"Cribs." Corrected Harley.

"WHO CARES?" Ivy screeched.

"I don't expect ya to understand it, Ivy," Harley said quietly, after a few moments silence. "But I've worked hard, I don't wanna lose any of the respect I've gained over the years."

Taking a few cleansing breaths, Ivy choked down her immediate response to that statement. The conversation was already taking a very sour turn; Ivy didn't want to worsen it – not with so little time left.

"You won't, Harley," she said after forcing a weeks worth of anger and annoyance to the back of her mind. "I promise."

Harley still looked unconvinced.

"I could lend you one of my spare costumes, if you like?"

Harley looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shook her head. "Nah. No offence, Red. But I don't wanna look like I'm sellin' tinned vegetables. Besides you're the only one who can pull that costume off. I'd never get away with it, not with these legs."

"True." Ivy replied after a beat, wondering why she'd even bothered to suggest it in the first place. "How about 'The Gymnast'?"

"Huh?"

"Your new gimmick," Ivy said, sounding calmer than she felt, "it's something you're good at."

"Hmmm, destroyin' my enemies with a ribbon…I dunno, Red."

Ivy took another breath, biting back another couple of suggestions, which were at best insulting; at worst, friendship destroying. She glanced at the clock; they had less than an hour before they had to be at Montgomery Towers.

"What about 'The Psychiatrist'?" Ivy suggested gamely.

"Sounds too much like hard work ta me, Pammie." Harley shrugged, "I don't want to hafta think too hard about stuff."

"No, of course not, silly me," Ivy muttered under her breath; her headache well on its way to becoming a full blown migraine. "What about Hula Hoop Woman?"

"Nah."

"The Mighty Quinn?"

"What?"

"Never mind," snapped Ivy, "what about 'The Juggler?"

Harley stared at her for a moment, "you're not very good at this, are you, Pammie?"

"Shut up," Ivy almost hissed. "I'm trying to help you here. 'The Doodler'?"

"Nope."

"The Coach Potato?" Ivy barked, her patience finally at its complete and utter end.

Harley held up a finger, a slow smile spreading across her face, "hold that thought."

Ivy blinked. "The Coach Potato?" She repeated, but Harley had already bounced out of the room.

Minutes went by, and all Ivy could hear from the next room were things being thrown around and wild cackling. With each second that passed Ivy grew more and more anxious, wondering what she'd just done.

Eventually, Harley re-entered the room.

Ivy stared at her in complete disbelief…

Harley smirked back.

"Your new costume is fifty cent plastic mask," Ivy muttered incredulously.

Harley waved it off, "it's a beta design. I'll fill out the details once I got the time, but I know what I am now, and that's the most important part."

"The Couch Potato?" Ivy asked dully.

"Nah. Better than that." Harley beamed.

Ivy closed her eyes, not really wanting to know. "Do tell, Harl."

"Wait for it," Harley paused dramatically, ignoring Ivy's gestures to hurry up. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Harl."

"I now want to be known as 'The Movie Maniac'." Harley smiled, her arms wide.

"The Movie Maniac." Ivy repeated almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, ain't it great, Red?" Harley chuckled, "it makes a whole lotta sense too. Didja know that if I hadn't gone into psychiatry, I would have studied film?"

"No, I didn't." Ivy said after a moment of silence, cursing herself for opening her mouth to begin with. She already knew where this was going…

"Well, now ya do." Harley glanced at the clock, "anyhoo, we best hit the road if were going make it in time."

"Harl," Ivy called out, as Harley began to head for the door. "I'm not really sure about this, it's like going from being a beautiful rose and turning yourself into dandelion. There's nothing wrong with--."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Harley interrupted, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Ivy grimaced. "Harley," she tried again, her voice sounding slightly strained to her own ears. "I really don't think--."

"Nonsense, Pammie. This is so cool." Harley continued to make her way to the door; reaching and opening it, she turned, "now c'mon, with traffic being the way it is, we might not make it in time." She grinned wildly, "So you better fasten your seatbelt. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

And with that, Harley was gone. Leaving Ivy standing in the centre of the room, all of her enthusiasm regarding her plans for Andrew Tracey had completely flown out of the window. And she was feeling ever so slightly ill at the prospect of spending the evening with Harley spewing out catchphrases like 'cut' and 'that's a wrap' every two minutes – and that was before the quotations even came into it. Maybe Harley would even try to adjust the Ivy's plan to resemble the plot of a movie.

Ivy shuddered at the thought, and she couldn't help but wonder what was worse. A Joker-obsessed Harley, or the new and improved version. Ivy wasn't even sure that she even wanted to know.

So with the eagerness of a man going to his execution, Ivy slowly trudged after her friend, dreading what was to come.


End file.
